


Wolves Without Teeth

by Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales)



Series: Charlie Verse! [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Felix Being a Dick, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Threats of Violence, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 15:03:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6120256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Goodluckdetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Locus has an alien sword. Alien swords tend to come with baby bonuses. </p><p>In where Locus has a daughter.</p><p>This installment: Felix and the sweet taste of revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wolves Without Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> The title for this fic comes from a Of Monsters and Men song.

The first thing they tell Felix after bringing him back to life is that Locus has a daughter.

The first thing Felix does in response to that statement is laugh so hard that he almost falls out of the chair they’ve strapped him too.

Locus? A daughter? An alien daughter? It’s the best joke Felix has heard in years, and for a second he wishes it was true because the irony there is so sweet that he can almost taste it. Locus does not nurture things, especially parasites who suck blood and grow scales. Locus does not carry affection. Locus does not tolerate the company of other creatures; Felix’s death taught him that.

It is only once they show him a lone photo of Locus carrying something out of a horror movie that the joke stops being funny and starts being real.

They give him instructions after that, taking the expression on his face as determination for their cause. Take the child. Bring it to them. Kill the interloper. Then do the same for their other target who carries a last name that makes Felix want to vomit.

Lavernius Tucker is an alien fucker. Figures. Felix wishes he knew sooner.

He would have made sure to gut the soldier when he stabbed him instead of just twisting the knife.

They give him the coordinates after he pledges to do their work, putting on his persona that reeks “just in it for the cash.” The knives and guns they give him are nothing like he had before he died, but they’ll do, and Felix has worked with much less. Before they send him out, they make him promise to bring back the child unharmed.

Felix could laugh. That thing Locus is harboring is no child. But he has no intention of killing it. Killing it off the bat would ruin the fun.

No. This is what Felix will do. He will capture the child. Leave a message for Locus so the man can track him down. Make it look like the child is dead. Give him the hope she’s alive when he finally meets Felix face to face.

And then he will slit the child’s neck and watch him shatter like all of Felix’s bones did when he hit the ground below.

* * *

He watches them a week after he tracks them down.

Striking without thinking is foolish, any smart soldier knows that, and Felix prides himself on being smart. He bugs the shack their staying in the first day he finds them, waiting for the moment father and daughter leave the house, before retreating to listen in.

It is what he hears over the com that shatters his entire perception of reality. Because Locus, the Locus he knew, does not sound like this. Fatherly. Caring. Concerned.

_Weak._

“Charlie you cannot eat that, it will make you sick.”

“Charlie get down from there right this instant, you will injure yourself!”

“Charlie, you’re safe. It was just a bad dream.”

“ _He named it Charlie!_?” Felix screams in the cave he his hiding in, almost throwing his listening devices over in frustration. He can’t believe it. He knows that name, knows it from the day he met Locus and the man introduced himself as Samuel Charles.

The asshole named this parasite after himself, and Felix could not be more disgusted if he tried.

The good humor is gone now, flooded from his bones with a wave of rage he hasn’t felt since his voice went live over Chorus. He grits his teeth together, clenches his fists, and when he punches the wall, the blood from his broken skin feels therapeutic.

The next time Locus comes home, Felix will make sure there is nothing waiting for him there but fear.

* * *

He comes to their door disguised a friend.

It’s easy, almost too easy to put together the proper disguise. The helmet goes first, can’t trick a kid if you got no face to show, and he tucks it in his bag to make sure it’s only peeking out to add credibility to his story. Blood is a non-starter, he wants to freak the creature out but not scare them entirely, so he applies only dirt to his face and a gives himself a black eye to make it look like he’s been in a fight. Locus’ voice is easy to replicate with the equipment they sent him, and rigging his recorder to look like a com is easy enough with some tape and a few wires. By the time he’s done, he resists the urge to bow, if only for the applause from his own ego.

He waits until Locus is gone on his run for supplies, giving him an hour long window to make this work. Making it to the shack is easy, and avoiding the traps Locus has set up is simple with his week of observation. He makes a point to be obvious about avoiding the traps, in case young eyes are watching disabling them entirely will add suspicion. When he reaches the shack, he knocks on the door in the way he’s watched Locus use the last week.

“Charlie. Charlie, are you in there?.”

There’s no reply. Felix didn’t expect one; if Locus’ child wasn’t paranoid, Locus clearly didn’t teach it right. He knocks again and pitches his voice in the way he knows inspires trust.

“Look, I know you don’t know me but your Dad sent me. Big guy, green armor?” No noise still but something in Felix’s gut tells him the creature is listening. “I found him up by the cliffs. He got a bit beaten up by something up there.”

There’s a squeak behind the door. Bingo. Felix resists the urge to smile, keeping his face confused and concerned. “Don’t worry, I think he’s gonna be fine. He just needs some medical supplies and he’ll be good as new.” He changes his tone so it sounds like the speech all adults make when they’re lying, the one kids can pick up from a mile away. He hopes the creature inside makes the conclusion Felix wants it  to, to what he’s lying about. “He was pretty out of it, but he managed to tell me that had a place with medical supplies nearby. Gave me directions.”

There is some scratching inside. The kid is likely getting closer to the door. “Look, you’re a kid right? He talked about you like you’re a kid. Uh, look, let me-” He makes a show of reaching into his bag and pulling out the recorder. When he presses the fake button, it makes a noise like a com coming to life. “Hey. Dude who found you like five minutes ago. Can you tell your kid to let me in? I think they’re scared of me or something.”

There is a pause, pre-recorded. This whole speech has been rehearsed so much Felix could do it backwards. When Locus’ voice comes out of the recorded, patched together by old sound samples, it sounds almost like the real thing, except for the pauses. And given he’s trying to sell “daddy is dying” here, the pauses are really working for him.   

“Charlie,” the fake Locus says out of the recorder. “Grab the medical kit. Unlock the door and leave it right there.” A pause, purposeful, man technology is a dream. “Lock it as soon as he leaves. Be right back.”

There is a long beat of silence and for a second Felix thinks his plan didn’t work, that the kid isn’t gonna buy it. But then he hears the sound of running. Scrambling, the closing of cabinets. Low pitched honks that sound almost terrified.

Crushed it.

He waits a moment until he hears the medical kit dropped on the floor and the locks opening. He resists the urge to barrell right in, instead knocking one more time. It has to let him in. If he barges, it could easily lock him out and call Locus.

“Is it cool if I come in now? We good kid?”

The door opens. Felix puts on his largest smile. Steps inside.

The little monster in front of him takes one look at his duffle and sees the orange paint on his helmet. It’s eyes go wide. And before Felix can say another word, it runs.

“Shit!” Felix reaches into his pocket for the tranq-gun he brought. That’s the problem with carrying around trademarks; they make you easy to spot. He hits the kid on the second shot, he’s out of practice, and the kid goes falling to the ground in a heap. Lucky.

He hates being lucky. It’s a sign he’s out of practice.

He puts the kit in the net he brought, glad the thing is small enough to carry easy enough. His ship is nearby and reaching it shouldn’t take more than ten minutes. That gives him five to leave his mark.

He slices the palm of his hand and gets to work.

Leaving the note and his helmet on the child’s pillow is the sweetest revenge he could have asked for.


End file.
